


It's not the waking, it's the rising

by TooManyPodcasts



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyPodcasts/pseuds/TooManyPodcasts
Summary: For Lucien, the biggest problem with consecution is that you spend the next decade as a child with no memories of your past life. If the Krynn could reincarnate people right back into their original bodies, or into new ones with their memories intact, the war would be all but won. He thinks he's found a spell to do exactly that.A.k.a: A theory about Mollymauk's possible consecution.





	It's not the waking, it's the rising

 

 

 

Lucien was going to die tonight.

 

All part of the plan of course. And if something went wrong, well it wasn't exactly the end of the world for a man who'd lived hundreds of lives. Still, it would be _inconvenient_ to spend the next twelve or so years as an idiot child. His plans would not wait so long.

 

With that thought in mind, he stooped to look over his spell components once again. His second-best robe was spread open on the mossy forest floor, shielding a carefully arranged collection of jars and pouches. It was autumn in the Savalier woods, and the ground was damp and springy beneath his feet. He hoped the humidity wouldn't ruin his powdered bone dust before the mage arrived.

 

Could he really trust the mage? Yes, he'd been one of the first to suggest an alliance between the Dynasty and the Cerberus Assembly, and yes, he may need her help to enter the ruins once the ritual was complete, but she was one of Ikithon's pets. That man was always plotting something, and he'd doubtless betray their little alliance the moment it stopped being profitable. Still, he needed her.

 

Although he had been the one to research and develop the spell itself, his current body had little in the way of arcane talent. He needed someone else to actually cast it, preferably someone unconnected to the Dynasty, and therefore unaware of the heretical nature of his experiments.

 

Tonight was something of a test run. A small perversion, before he attempted a much greater sacrilege. Theoretically, the spell should work. Reanimation was a well established field, and his consecuted soul would certainly remain on this plane, rather than be claimed by the Raven Queen. The spell simply had to bring these two facts together. It was a gamble, but a small one. It was a spell written by Lucien himself after all.

 

If it worked, and it _would_ work, the war was as good as won. Their leaders, their generals, their greatest warriors, all would become effectively immortal. Yes, some would argue that the great Luxon had already granted them a form of immortality, but in the time it took the fallen to reach adulthood and regain their memories, the war may well be lost.

 

Ah, and that was the heart of it, after all; _memory_ . The one piece of the spell that had him nervously checking and rechecking his components. It was simple enough to bring his body back to life, simple enough to call his soul back into the world, but he _needed_ his memories to come with it. No one knew why the Luxon locked their true selves away until adolescence. Oh, the philosophers all thought they knew, but not a single one could agree. Some believed it helped the souls adapt to a new time period, others thought it was so that they continued to form new social bonds. Any number of theories had been proposed, really, ranging from the serious to the absurd. And yet, so few were willing to _test_ it.

 

Well, Lucien was.

 

He heard footsteps crunching through the soggy leaves, coming closer. Soon, she appeared through the trees; the mage. A wraith-like figure, she had long red hair and dead, cold eyes which lay shadowed under her hood. She carried a thick book under one arm, bound in ancient leather. When she entered the clearing she stopped. She did not speak.

 

“Well,” Lucien said after a moment. “You're here, so let's begin.”

 

Three days later, a purple hand shot up through a mound of loose dirt. It was followed by the head and body of a hacking, gasping, violet colored tiefling


End file.
